


Mind Matter

by Rixtide



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Deteriorating mind, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Flashbacks, Flirting, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Protective Steve Rogers, Roommates, Slow Burn, Steve never left, Steve's Not Old, Stucky - Freeform, post Endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25540318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rixtide/pseuds/Rixtide
Summary: After a while of living as housemates, Steve and Bucky sense something more rising between them. Things take a turn when Bucky's mind begins to deteriorate as a long term side effect of the experiments and brainwash he endured long ago. Steve will do anything to save Bucky's mind before it's lost forever.A perfect mix of fluff and angst.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 31
Kudos: 37





	1. How It Started

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic takes place post-engame, but Steve never left to grow old with Peggy.

The morning sunlight flooded in through the window and washed over Steve with a pale orange warmth. Steve awoke an hour earlier than usual, and he looked to the clock on the wall to see it was just before 6:00. He lay there for a moment, almost hyperaware of the softness of the sheets. Soon, however, the thought of coffee called to him, so he swung his feet to the floor, pulled on a sweatshirt, and lumbered down the hallway to the kitchen, stopping only briefly to peek into the room where Bucky lay fast asleep.

With a cup of coffee in hand, he stepped onto the porch and was greeted by crisp Fall air. The coffee burned his tongue a little upon the first sip, so he set it on the banister and watched the steam swirl up from its surface.

The life of a retired superhero was not a bad one, but it could be lonely. Captain America had become more of a pop-culture icon in the years since the world was saved one final time. There were comic books and t-shirts featuring the classic logo from his shield. Occasionally small children wearing Iron Man sneakers would shyly ask Steve for an autograph while their mothers gave encouraging nods from behind. But mostly, as the world went back to normal, people began to forget. And so the only real friends Steve had were his former colleagues who had either moved across the world (like Bruce did), or they made up their own post-superhero life with families and other commitments. Bucky disappeared for almost three years after Tony’s funeral. He would send occasional letters to Steve to check in or share pictures of remote mountain ranges and rivers. But for the most part, all was quiet.

Until one day, a few months ago, when Bucky turned up on Steve’s doorstep.

_There was a faint knock on the door, and Steve poked his head out of the kitchen, wondering if he had imagined it. He crossed the living room to look through the peephole before unlatching the door and opening it slowly, still in disbelief of what he had just seen. The porchlight illuminated Bucky’s face in a way that made him look young, but somehow still with the wisdom of a century-old man._

_“Bucky! God, it’s good to see you,” Steve said, wrapping him in a hug._

_Bucky smiled and squeezed his shoulder as they pulled away, “I was just passing through and wondered if you’d be interested in a chat with an old friend.”_

_“Of course! Come in!” Steve gestured for him to enter and went to the kitchen to grab two beers._

_They sat on the couch and began with small talk. Steve discovered that Bucky had been all over the globe. On a sheep farm in Scotland for a few months, back in Wakanda for a few weeks, Russia (though he chose to leave only three days later after certain words in their language haunted him), India, Canada, Chile, and finally back in the U.S. just last week. He had been looking for a place to settle down, but never felt quite at ease anywhere. Steve listened eagerly, as many of his questions and curiosities about his friend were finally being answered. Empty beer bottles slowly multiplied to cover the coffee table, and Steve was beginning to feel the room sway around him slightly._

_“What made you decide to come back?” he asked._

_“After seventy years of being in solitude, I thought it’s what I wanted.” Bucky said, looking into his lap with a sad smile._

_“Just because we’re used to something doesn’t mean it’s good for us,” Steve replied._

_“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, “exactly.”_

_They sat in silence for a moment, and Steve could feel a palpable sadness rising in the air. Or was it nostalgia?_

_Bucky inhaled quickly and spat out the next words to avoid any conversation that felt too deep to be comfortable: “So, how’s life been for you?”_

_Steve followed suit and told Bucky about his rather uneventful life. How Sam and Natasha have stayed close enough to spend time with them on the regular. How he had just purchased a new motorcycle after months of telling himself he didn’t need it. And how he tried to make the ten hour drive to visit Pepper and Morgan as often as he could._

_“It’s nothing too exciting, but I think I’ve had my fill of exciting,” Steve chuckled._

_Bucky smiled and took a sip of his beer._

_“Why don’t you stay here?” Steve blurted out. Bucky looked at him with surprise. “Seriously. I know you’re lonely. I can see it on your face. You said yourself you didn’t know what to do next. Just stay here in my extra room. If you find it’s not for you, you can leave. Of course!”_

_Bucky opened his mouth, hesitating to reply either because he was unsure of what to say or because he was waiting for Steve to admit he was joking. Surely the alcohol must be getting to his head._

_“Look, ok,” Steve leaned forward and set down his bottle before lacing his fingers and placing his hands in his lap, “When we were kids. You always let me stay on a whim whenever I needed. This is just thanks for that! Really overdue thanks. You won’t be a burden, just help out with dishes, that’s all I ask.” Perhaps the alcohol was getting to him a little, but even though it was a drunk idea, Steve was excited at the prospect of not having to live in a quiet, empty house anymore._

_Bucky looked at him, conflicted. It was getting difficult to think clearly._

_“I guess I can… stay until something else pops up,” he said._

_“Perfect!” Steve replied with the enthusiasm of his eight-year-old self about to have a sleepover with his best friend._

_They stayed up much later that night, just talking and reminiscing. When Steve showed Bucky to his room, Bucky admitted he didn’t have much to bring, only a small bag of clothes and toiletries from his car. But they were both significantly impaired and sleepy by that time, so Steve lent him a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, and they said goodnight._

Steve looked down and saw that his mug was no longer steaming. He took a sip and made a face at the now-cold coffee. The door creaked open behind him, and Bucky peered out, inquiring about why he was up so early. Steve followed him inside to warm up his coffee in the microwave while Bucky poured a fresh cup and added an absurd amount of vanilla creamer.

“I don’t get you,” Steve said, eying Bucky’s mug.

“Well I don’t get you either. I drank black coffee for years because I _had_ to, not because it was _good._ ”

Steve made a “gross” face and Bucky made a “gross” face back, only giving in to a little smile when he turned out of Steve’s line of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed it! Expect more soon!


	2. The Headache

“Sam’s gonna be here in like an hour, the game starts at 6, do you want to call and order food?” Steve nudged Bucky’s foot with his own. They sat on opposite ends of the couch. Steve had been watching “Captain A” the new animated series starring him and the other avengers. This episode featured a storyline from one of the comics where Captain America went head-to-head with Vincent Van-Doom: a villain that used his powers to trap real life people in portrait paintings. The whole show felt more like a bad replica of Scooby-Doo. Bucky, however, had been reading a book he found in Steve’s guest room. He wondered if Steve has ever actually read any of the books on that shelf, or if they were just there for decoration.

Bucky gave Steve a ‘please don’t make me do that’ look.

“C’mon, I ordered last time,” Steve complained.

“How about,” Bucky said, setting the book down on his lap and leaning toward Steve, “You order, and I’ll clean the living room.”

Steve sighed, “clean the kitchen also, and we have a deal.”

“Deal,” Bucky said before getting up and disappearing into the kitchen and shouting, “It’s not ‘cool’ to watch your own TV show, by the way.”

“Aww come on, it is SO cool! Did you see the way I used my massive chest muscles to deflect Van-Doom’s poison paint darts? Hey! I can _hear_ you rolling your eyes at me!”

Bucky stifled his laughter as he cleared the counters.

***

Sam arrived at approximately 6:30, and by then the smell of fresh pizza filled the house. The football game blared from the TV.

“Hey guys, I brought beer!” Sam said cheerfully as he entered the living room.

He took the drinks to the kitchen and sorted them into the fridge, handing one to Bucky, one to Steve, and setting aside a third for himself. They caught up on the last week of events. Sam started working a new job that honestly didn’t sound that exciting. Steve talked about how the gym he frequented was changing ownership, and Bucky stood by preferring to do more listening than talking. He noticed a slight ache creep up in the back of his head, but thought nothing more of it.

Bucky didn’t particularly see the value in watching a football game. He knew how it worked, he simply didn’t find any enjoyment in sitting around and following a whole game play by play. Of course he’d never admit this to Steve, who took immense joy in shouting “YEAHHHH” while pumping his fist or “What was that?!?” every time a bad call was made. Bucky couldn’t tell if he found it endearing or annoying, but he sat with Steve and Sam regardless, trying to be inconspicuous about his indifference.

By halftime, Bucky’s headache had become quite a bother. Steve had already shot him a few concerned glances, and Bucky wondered if he was making faces at the discomfort. Sam excused himself to grab another plate of pizza when Steve leaned to Bucky, placing a hand delicately on his arm. The touch sent a tingle up Bucky’s spine that made him forget about his pain for just a moment.

“Are you alright?” Steve whispered.

Bucky nodded, “Just a headache.”

Steve put a finger up, “one second.” He vanished into the kitchen and reemerged with a glass of water, “drink this.”

The water was ice cold and much needed, but it didn’t bring the relief he’d hoped for. Only ten minutes later, the pain became unbearable. The sound of whistles and cheering echoed around his head like someone was shaking around a bunch of nails in his brain.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” Bucky announced.

Sam looked concerned for a moment, but he shrugged and gave a thumbs up, not letting his attention stray from the game for too long.

Steve asked if he needed anything, and explained to Sam that he wasn’t feeling well after Bucky disappeared down the hallway.

In his room, he held his head in the darkness, trying to steady his breathing. The dull aches had evolved to sharp pains that were reminiscent of the electric shocks he used to receive long ago… _No,_ he thought, trying to stop the memories before they overtook him, _it’s just a migraine. It’s just a migraine._

He curled up under the covers and tried his best to stay calm and let it pass.

***

What felt like hours later, the bedroom door creaked open. Bucky, still awake, noticed that the house had grown quiet. The game must have ended.

“Hey,” Steve said, “Sam just left. How are you doing?”

“I’ll be alright,” Bucky said, smiling a little so as not to worry Steve.

“I brought you some ibuprofen and water if you need it. I’ll leave it here,” Steve said, setting it on the nightstand.

Bucky said thank you, and Steve bid him goodnight, closing the door after a moment’s hesitation. 

Bucky gulped down the painkillers, and as they slowly took effect, his mind was finally able to wander to something that he hadn’t been able to shake: the feeling of Steve’s hand on his arm. The gesture was so tender, and it left him with a strange feeling that was hard to define. Bucky would later be embarrassed to admit that he attempted to replicate the feeling by placing his own hand on his arm. Although he could only feel the touch of cool metal, he drifted off pretending that it was Steve’s warm fingers there instead.

***

The morning came quickly, and Bucky woke to the relief of a clear head and the smell of pancakes in the air.

Steve smiled brightly when Bucky emerged in boxers and a white t-shirt. His hair was gathered lazily into a bun that sat lop-sided atop his head.

“I knew the smell would get you up. Works every time,” Steve teased. “Feeling any better?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, the hoarseness of sleep still heavy in his voice. “And what do you mean ‘every time’? You never make breakfast.”

Steve shrugged, “I wanted pancakes.”

“Hmm,” Bucky looked over his shoulder to observe for a moment.

It was nice to have breakfast for a change. They sat across the table from one another. Steve passed the bottle of syrup, and Bucky had to hide his blush when their hands briefly touched.

 _What is happening??_ Bucky thought to himself, quickly slamming the bottle down and reaching for his fork to shove down a rather large bite of pancakes.

“It’s impressive how much you can fit in your mouth,” Steve said with an innocent tone.

Bucky choked.

Steve burst into laughter, “Must be really hungry. I’m glad you’re a fan of my cooking.”

Bucky was left humiliated. Steve always acted like this, nothing had changed. So why was he suddenly plagued with all these feelings that he couldn’t ignore? He looked up to see Steve’s grin, still smug, and Bucky wanted to punch his perfect face. He wanted to blame Steve for placing a hand on him last night and making a crude joke. But it wasn’t Steve’s fault at all. He wasn’t flirting. He was just being Steve. Bucky was the one reading into it. Why now? He’d never felt this way before. Or had he? _Agh!_ It was all happening so fast. He could feel his heart beating so rapidly he thought it might burst.

“We won last night, by the way,” Steve’s oblivious voice whipped him violently back to reality, “You should have seen it, the last quarter was a real mess, but we pulled through.”

“Oh good,” Bucky said, feeling his heart calm down as he resumed eating.

“I should text Sam, he seemed a little buzzed when he left. I hope he made it home ok.”

Bucky nodded and watched Steve get up to retrieve his phone. He came back moments later and they finished their breakfast over small talk.

More than anything, Bucky craved a warm shower. Each morning grew cooler as the leaves outside changed color to yellows and deep reds. Soon it would be time to start wearing heavy coats outside. Winter was his favorite season, but it wasn’t always that way. Living in hiding made it hard to stay warm in snowy seasons. He often found himself in heatless abandoned apartment complexes, or even in damp mountain caves on a few occasions. He despised the cold back then. But in the last few winters, he was able to enjoy the warmth of real homes and to find peace in watching snow fall in the early morning from the comfort of a soft couch. He finally saw the appeal.

Water roared from the showerhead as steam filled the air. He looked at himself in the mirror and noticed he looked a little strange, almost… _unfamiliar._ He brushed it off and reached up to pull off his shirt. Before he could do so, a wave of nausea hit. He swayed to the side, feeling like the room was simultaneously being pulled out from under his feet and folded up over him. A bolt of pain shot through his head like hot lightning. Barely making it to the toilet in time, he vomited and slumped to his knees. He couldn’t tell if he let out some sort of wailing sound, but he must have, because Steve showed up moments later knocking loudly on the door.

“Buck? You ok?”

Bucky felt his control over his body slipping away. _I’m ok,_ he wanted to say, but all that came out was another guttural moan.

Everything began to fade, but then there was Steve, right there in front of him, a look of panic on his face. Bucky felt arms around him and heard Steve saying something that he couldn’t quite make out. The last thing he could recall was the feeling of his head rolling backward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any comments are much appreciated! I love hearing from you!


	3. Under The Fire's Glow

Steve watched his friend carefully as he lay asleep in the bed. He observed little beadlets of sweat dotting Bucky’s forehead, despite it being cool inside the house. After Bucky passed out in the bathroom, Steve was able to lean him up in a safe position and hold him until he came to. When he did, he looked at Steve, muttering “shit, I’m sorry,” and rubbing his head. Steve helped him up, Bucky leaned against the wall and tried to gather his senses.

“I’ll clean this,” he said, gesturing vaguely around the toilet.

“No, don’t worry about it,” Steve replied, “You should lay down, you look really pale.”

Bucky didn’t argue. He didn’t feel well at all.

Bucky winced and woke with a start, feeling Steve’s presence sitting in the chair beside him.

“How long have you been there?” he asked groggily.

“Not long, I just came to check on you,” Steve lied. It had been a little over two hours. “How do you feel?”

“I feel like I got hit by a bus, and speaking from experience, that doesn’t feel good.”

“No it doesn’t,” Steve agreed.

“I think it’s just a bad migraine,” Bucky said, reading the concern on Steve’s face. “My mom used to get them just like this. It was horrible.”

Steve nodded cautiously, and they shared a thoughtful silence until he sighed.

“Why don’t you rest up, I’ll make us some soup.”

Bucky rubbed his eyes, “I honestly don’t want to sleep any more, I’ll come out with you.”

And so Steve did his best to make chicken and rice soup with the ingredients they had on hand. Bucky sat quietly on the couch and watched whatever movie was playing at low volume on the TV. He caught it toward the middle, so the plot was really hard to follow, but he gathered that the two men dressed in black suits were trying to catch some aliens. But they were also working with other aliens?

Steve glanced out the window. Clouds formed a deep gray blanket above them, and it looked like it might rain. The tree swaying angrily by the street told him it was getting pretty windy too.

As the the house filled with the warm smell of chicken broth, Steve joined Bucky on the couch.

“Soup’s just gotta cook for a while,” he said, “Oh, Men In Black. I haven’t seen this but I’ve heard it’s good.”

Bucky tipped his head and acknowledged Steve. They sat and watched the rest of the movie together. At some point, Steve shivered and got up to stack some wood in the fireplace. Bucky had never seen him use it before, but a day like today certainly warranted a nice fire.

Bucky looked to him as he settled down again, longing to sit closer. He daydreamed about lacing his fingers through Steve’s or maybe even laying on his lap while they spent an entire day watching movies in the firelight. Steve looked over and caught him staring, but Bucky quickly snapped his gaze back to the TV. He felt himself smile.

***

The week passed uneventfully. Bucky felt better as each day came and went. The migraine was a distant thought in his mind by Friday night. Around noon that day, Steve noticed a leak in the ceiling of the kitchen where the paint bubbled out and water dripped through to create a small puddle on the floor. It hadn’t stopped raining the whole week, and it was starting to cause problems across the city. Flash flood warnings crept along the bottom of the TV every few hours, and the public schools had to take a “rain day” due to the severe conditions of the streets. Bucky helped Steve patch the leak in their ceiling, but then around 5pm the power went out.

“Shit!” Bucky hollered, coming out of the bathroom in a hurry.

After around an hour of waiting in increasing darkness, Steve used his phone to look up local news sources.

“It says that power is out for this whole side of town. They estimate at least 12 hours to get it resolved.”

“It’s freezing in here,” Bucky complained.

Steve took the cue to build another fire. He reckoned they had enough dry wood to last for about a day. The fire cast a cheerful glow as it came to life, and Bucky brought a blanket to sit before it on the ground.

Steve vanished for a few minutes and came back with a deck of cards and a bottle of wine that had been in the top cupboard since Bucky moved in.

Bucky looked at him skeptically.

“What?” Steve asked, “there’s nothing else to do and this wine is all we have.”

They made up a comfortable space on the floor by bringing down couch cushions to sit on and moving the coffee table between them. They each poured a large glass of wine and began to play card games, starting with poker and switching to something different every time they got bored. Bucky could feel the wine going to his head after only two glasses. He giggled like a schoolboy and felt his cheeks flush red whenever Steve made eye contact. They eventually made their way to silly games rather than serious ones, ending with “Go Fish”.

“Do you…” Bucky said with a devilish smile, “have any fours?”

Steve tilted his head and raised his eyebrows with more drama than necessary.

“Go fish,” he said, looking pleased with himself. Bucky drew a card with a grunt. “Do you have any kings?”

Bucky squinted and pulled three Kings out of his hand, tossing them at Steve with an attitude.

“You’re cheating,” he said, slurring his words ever so slightly.

“Am I?” Steve sat back smugly, “or did I just remember you asking for a king three turns ago before I drew this one?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but couldn’t suppress a smile, “this isn’t even a real game. It’s so stupid,” he whined.

“Just because you’re losing doesn’t mean it’s a dumb game,” Steve objected.

Bucky narrowed his eyes and threw his cards at Steve, fighting to stay angry despite the smile creeping onto his face. Steve opened his mouth in betrayal and disbelief. He threw his own cards at Bucky and they both giggled like they were 10 years old again. Every time they stopped, they would make eye contact and erupt in laughter again. This went on until Bucky felt a stitch in his side, so he held onto it and scooted back so that his back was slumped against the base of the couch. Steve crawled over and slumped down next to him. They stared into the fire and sipped their wine for a while.

“This is the happiest I’ve been, I think, since before I was deployed,” Bucky spoke slowly, with a tenderness Steve hadn’t heard in nearly a century.

Steve turned his head to gaze at his friend; who had a glint of tears in his eyes. Was it from laughing, or…

Bucky wasn’t sure what possessed him to do so, but he reached down and placed his hand over Steve’s. He wasn’t even nervous or embarrassed. It had to be the wine. He would be mortified of doing that in his sober mind. There was a pause, but then Steve turned his hand over and laced their fingers together.

Bucky’s cheeks turned pink, but he expressed a silent gratitude for the orange glow from the fire that would hide it well. A peace set over him that he’d never felt in his entire life. His eyes grew heavy. _It’s gotta be the wine,_ he thought again sheepishly. He leaned his head back and let sleep carry him away to sweet dreams.

Steve held his gaze on Bucky for a long while, feeling as though he was already in a dream. He gently pulled his hand away and tucked a blanket over his friend. His surroundings swayed somewhat as he walked down the hall to his room, tracing the walls delicately with his fingertips. There was the slightest tinge of some foreign emotion tugging at his heart. Whatever it was, he would deal with it in the morning when he was sober.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I especially enjoyed writing this chapter! Let me know what you think! <3


	4. The Deepest Secret

Bucky rolled over and opened his eyes slowly. His body felt stiff. He hadn’t slept on the ground in ages, and it was harder and more uncomfortable than he remembered. The embers in the fireplace crackled quietly and burned orange through the ashes. The windows were frosted, but just beyond sat a thick layer of morning clouds, producing yet another day’s worth of rain. Bucky struggled to remember why he was on the floor, but the memories slowly drizzled in. He remembered the power going out, the fire that Steve built, playing cards, and… _oh god._ Bucky pulled the blanket over his head and rubbed his temples. _Why did you do that? Stupid,_ he thought harshly to himself. The carelessness and invincibility from the wine wore off and left him only with embarrassment. He wondered if Steve lay awake in the room down the hall, confused and disgusted by his actions. But then he remembered Steve holding his hand back. _That’s ridiculous,_ Bucky corrected himself, _He was drunk… probably just trying to be nice._

He lay there, caught up in his thoughts, until he heard the floorboards in the hallway creak. Bracing himself, he turned over to see Steve wearing a blue hoodie.

“Sleep ok?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, did you?” Bucky replied in a forcefully cool voice.

“Yeah, but I woke up _freezing.”_

Bucky just noticed how icy the floor felt beneath him. The air stung his nostrils a little.

Steve passed by and bent down to revive the fire. He stacked more wood and kindling, struck a match, and blew gently on the flame to help it grow. Bucky sat petrified, waiting for some comment about what happened, but it never came. Instead, Steve went quietly to the kitchen. Bucky cleared his spot and took the wine glasses to the kitchen sink, trying to avoid eye contact.

“I checked the website, and I think it’s going to be even longer for the power. It might not come back on until later today,” Steve said.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t take too much longer,” Bucky sighed.

“Did you want to go across town? We can go to the bookstore and get a coffee there, since we can’t make our own.”

Bucky shrugged, “Sounds good.”

After they got dressed and took care of the fire, so as not to burn down the house, they did a quick half-jog to the car. Steve drove, being careful to avoid streets that looked flooded. The houses and buildings around them were dark and eerie. Aside from the howling wind, everything was quiet. The world felt empty and sad. Bucky wondered if it would ever stop pouring. He shivered. The car was already warm, but the silence between him and Steve made him uneasy. They must have passed into the part of town with power, because the roadside signs buzzed pale yellow and neon red.

The car hit a dip in the entry to a parking lot and sloshed through a deep puddle of water. Thankfully they got a close parking spot, so they didn’t have to get too wet running to the door. The bookstore was practically empty. Bucky expected more people to be drawn here on a stormy morning, but maybe everyone felt safer staying in. Steve went straight to the coffee counter and ordered a black coffee and a vanilla latte, extra sweet.

Bucky browsed the “Must Haves For Your Collection” section. He picked up a book with a plain-looking cover and read the description on the back.

Steve approached and held out a brown cup with a black lid.

“Here you go, extra sweet.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, taking the latte and trying a cautious sip.

“The barista asked for a picture with me, she said it was for her brother.”

“Oh?” Bucky replied, only half paying attention as he read the back of another book.

Steve grabbed one off the shelf and began reading the back aloud, “ _Jack was only ten years old when his mother disappeared. Ten years later, on the same day, his father vanished without a trace. Dive into the thrilling and unexpected labyrinth of events that led to a discovery more disturbing than you could imagine…_ Hmm. What about this one? You like true crime, right?”

Bucky shrugged and took the book from his hands, scanning the cover and flipping through the first few pages. He proceeded to tuck the book under his arm and kept browsing.

“Hey wait wait wait that one sounded kinda good, what if I wanted to read it?” Steve said in a teasing tone.

Bucky picked up a second copy and pushed it against Steve’s chest.

Steve chuckled “you wouldn’t share with me? How about you read it aloud to me like a bedtime story each night?”

Bucky rolled his eyes as Steve put the second copy back on the shelf.

They stayed for a little over an hour. Bucky sat down and read a few pages of his book to see if it was worth the purchase. Steve wandered into the music section.

As Bucky skimmed the pages, he felt a dull throb begin in the back of his head. He tried to ignore it, but it slowly spread throughout his skull and pulsed more aggressively as time went on. He found himself straining his eyes to pick out the words on the page, and so he closed the cover and sat back, rubbing his temples.

Steve finally reemerged, setting down a few CD’s on the table and noticing his friend who looked to be in discomfort.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, just another headache.”

“Did you drink too much?”

“Maybe,” Bucky replied, knowing full-well this felt different than a headache from drinking too much. But he didn’t want to worry Steve, and claiming he drank too much might deflect some of the suspicion or curiosity about his… _stupid…_ actions last night.

Steve sighed, “I’m about ready to go home anyway, how about you?”

Bucky nodded.

They paid for their items and jogged to the car, trying to avoid getting them wet. The windshield wipers worked overtime to combat the heavy downpour. The road looked more like a river, with the water flowing in waves through the gutters and spilling out angrily over the pavement. Thankfully it wasn’t as deep as it looked. Roadside buildings grew dark again as they passed back into the no-power zone.

Steve thought back to the night before. Flashes of Bucky’s face in the firelight. He saw a smile that was mischievous and somehow tender at the same time. He saw rosy cheeks, a finger twirling a loose strand of hair, shy glances at the floor when their eyes met. Had Bucky really drank too much? Was he imagining it?

Bucky also sat in silence, sharing a similar thought of the night before. There was something nostalgic about it. The cushions on the floor and the deck of cards took him back to a time long ago. It was such a distant memory now, but simultaneously it still carried an overwhelming sense of familiarity… He could see Steve there in front of him, but not Steve as he was now. He was just a boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old.

_They sat in a living room that smelled of dust and flowers. Cushions from the couch transformed the floor into a comfortable space for games. Bucky produced a deck of cards from his jacket pocket._

_“Where did you get those? Are they new?” Steve squeaked excitedly as he swiped them out of his friend’s hands._

_“My pa brought them home after his shift yesterday,” Bucky replied in a cool voice._

_Steve’s face twisted into a look of delight. “Do you know any games?”_

_Bucky nodded and took the cards back, opening the paper box and shuffling them with shaky hands. He fumbled a little, and the cards scattered across the blankets before him._

_“Let me do that,” Steve said, holding out a hand. He shuffled with ease, a boy from school showed him how to do it last month._

_Bucky took them back and dealt out a few cards to each of them, explaining the rules while he did._

_“What are we playing for?” Steve asked._

_Bucky smiled with the same devious charm that he always did, “You might want to finish learning the game first.”_

_Steve scoffed, “it doesn’t seem that hard.”_

_Bucky shrugged and straightened his posture, “I bummed a cigarette off of Tom the other day at school. If you win, you can have it.”_

_Steve shook his head, “You know I don’t like those. How about if I win, you tell me your deepest secret. And if you win I tell you mine.”_

_“That’s no fun, I already know your deepest secret,” Bucky whined._

_“Actually you don’t,” Steve sat back on his hands, “And you’d never guess it.”_

_Bucky’s face twisted into hard contemplation._

_“Fine. Deal.”_

_They played a round, arguing on the rules only once, when Steve placed down three cards and Bucky tried to tell him he couldn’t do that. Steve objected, but eventually let it go and made a different move. A few turns later, Steve saw his opportunity and smacked two kings down on the table._

_“I win!” he cried._

_Bucky sat with his mouth open in disbelief. A sudden dread washed over him. He had a secret, but he pushed it so far down that he thought it would never see the light of day. He couldn’t possibly tell Steve. It would ruin their friendship. Steve would tell his friends and his mother, and Bucky would get beat up in the field behind the school and reprimanded by his father. He would be shamed in church, and he would be so overwhelmed with shame that he just might die._

_“So? What’s your secret. I know you have one. You’ve been acting strange the last few weeks.”_

_“I have not,” Bucky said quietly, but his voice cracked a little and his face turned red. He searched his brain as quickly as he could for a different secret. Steve knew him so well, he would know if he was lying._

_The deepest parts of him ached to tell Steve the truth. He wanted so badly to tell him his desire to hold his hand, or to scoot closer while they slept on the makeshift bed of couch cushions. He blushed. No, those thoughts were not ok._

_“I have a crush on Kathy Walters,” he blurted out of panic. It wasn’t really true, Kathy got made fun of a lot because of the way her teeth jutted out and her odd way of speaking. She was nice, but the other kids deemed it laughable to “like like” her. Steve may laugh, but it was better than the truth._

_To his surprise, Steve did not laugh. A look of shock crossed his face, but he shrugged. “Well, she is pretty nice. She only gets made fun of because everyone is so mean.”_

_Perhaps Steve’s acceptance came from also being picked on a lot, but it was one of the most endearing things about him. However, Bucky’s heart ached a little when Steve didn’t seem even the slightest bit upset or jealous of him liking someone else. He knew that, from now on, Steve would nudge him in the school hallways when Kathy passed by, and he would make kissy faces at him whenever she spoke up in class. He would have to hide his embarrassment from the other kids, not because Kathy was his crush, but because his real crush was sitting right beside him making stupid dumb kissy faces._

_Part of him wanted to run away. To stop talking to Steve and never see him again. But the thought of that was also awful. What had he gotten himself into? Why couldn’t he just be normal and like girls?_

_Steve watched him, seeing the distress on his face. He leaned forward, “hey, you don’t have to be embarrassed with me, ok? I won’t laugh at you. Like I said I think she’s a nice girl.”_

_Bucky nodded, saying “thanks” in a small voice._

The car splashed through another puddle as Steve pulled into their driveway. Bucky came back to himself, feeling like he was thrust forward again in time and dropped back into this moment after being off somewhere far away.

Everything felt clearer now. Maybe he had forgotten his old feelings for Steve, but they never disappeared. They simply lay dormant for eighty or so years.

Thankfully Bucky’s headache calmed down for a few hours, allowing him to delve into his book and eat some food they had delivered. At some point in the afternoon, the power flicked back on, and Bucky heard a little celebratory “Hey!” from Steve’s bedroom where he typed away on the computer.

However, as the light outside melted into darkness, Bucky’s head began to throb again. Even later into the night, the room swayed and he suddenly felt sick. Steve was sitting beside him scrolling through his phone when Bucky stood quickly and had to clutch the couch for support.

“Woah,” Steve said, standing and reaching out to help balance him.

“Bathroom,” Bucky said, holding his head. Sweat gathered across his forehead.

Steve helped him down the hallway, and Bucky collapsed over the toilet, heaving violently. Steve pulled his long hair back and held it behind his head. His other hand lay between Bucky’s shoulder blades.

Bucky stayed there for some time before sitting back and flushing the toilet.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

“No,” Steve replied without hesitation, “It’s ok.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, feeling as though his head might burst.

“Maybe we should go to the doc—”

“No,” Bucky snapped.

Steve closed his mouth, feeling helpless.

“Just a migraine,” Bucky said, but there was a hint of doubt in his voice.

“I just assumed you were pregnant,” Steve teased gently.

Bucky looked up at him with a scowl, but despite his pain, it made him chuckle a little.

They cleaned up and Bucky brushed his teeth, trying his best to stay steady, but he felt himself shaking. The sweat soaked his shirt, making a little dark blue “V” on his chest. Steve helped him to his bed and brought him more painkillers. Bucky held his head as he swallowed them with a drink of water.

“Are you going to be ok?” Steve asked.

Bucky paused, tears blurring his vision from the pain, “could you… stay with me? Please…” He felt like a child, but the last thing he wanted was to be alone in the dark, feeling like he might combust.

Steve was caught by surprise, but he nodded, “Uh, yeah. Yeah sure.”

He climbed into the other side of the bed with his back against the wall. I’ll stay until you can sleep. Bucky felt that he should be embarrassed, but he hurt so bad that it didn’t concern him very much.

After the pills started to set in, he felt himself drifting. His body was thoroughly worn out from the pain, and that made it easier. As his eyes closed, he felt Steve’s fingers rake delicately through his hair. He was unsure if it was a dream, but it sent butterflies fluttering wildly through his stomach regardless. Despite everything, he felt safe for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment to let me know what you think! I was very excited to share this chapter with you all! <3


	5. Jumbled

Steve woke from a dream that he couldn’t recall by the time he opened his eyes. He looks to his left to see Bucky still asleep. A strand of his hair lay across his cheek. His shoulder moved up and down with small, steady breaths. Steve must have fallen asleep before he could go to his own bed. He rubbed his neck, which was sore from sleeping hunched up against the wall.

It was oddly quiet. The rain must have finally let up, though the light in the room indicated that it was still cloudy outside. It hadn’t rained that hard or that long in probably two years. Steve rose as silently as possible, trying not to disrupt his friend. His phone told him it was only 7am.

The smell of coffee filled the kitchen as Steve sorted through the fridge groggily. Most of their food spoiled during the power outage, so he would have to go to the store. Would it be safe to leave Bucky alone? He figured if he was fast, he might make it before he even woke up. They couldn’t keep ordering delivery for every meal, and Bucky would refuse coffee unless he had creamer.

Steve pulled on a fresh pair of clothes and gulped down his coffee as quickly as he could without burning his mouth. The car keys dangled from his hand, chiming lightly while he checked on Bucky one last time before leaving.

The trip to the store was quick. The streets were still wet, but no longer flooded. A thin fog sat over the city, making everything feel a little surreal. Only a few cars buzzed by here and there.

Steve focused on the essentials: milk, eggs, creamer, orange juice. He picked up a fresh roasted chicken for dinner and a few other snacks and vegetables. He checked his phone frequently to make sure Bucky hadn’t texted him. He left a note on the counter with “going to the store” scribbled in messy, all-caps handwriting just in case.

He made it back home in less than a half hour. Bucky hadn’t moved, and so Steve decided to get some work done. He started by sorting through his emails with a second cup of coffee steaming on the desk beside him. Time evaded him, and before he realized it, he looked up to see it was 11:45am. He rubbed his eyes, trying to remember if he heard Bucky moving about the house. He got up and peered into the other bedroom to see that he still lay in bed with his eyes closed. It was extremely odd for Bucky to sleep past 8 or 8:30, so he went to check on him.

“Bucky?” he said quietly once he entered the room.

No response. Bucky breathed quietly, but he looked pale, and his hair was damp with sweat again.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve reached down to nudge him.

Bucky shot up with a deep gasp, making Steve jump backwards a little. He looked around the room with wild, fearful eyes before meeting Steve’s gaze. Steve held his hands up slowly to show he wasn’t a threat, and Bucky closed his eyes and leaned back onto the heel of his hand.

“I’m sorry… It’s just getting late. I was worried,” Steve said.

Bucky took a deep breath, “it’s ok, what time is it?”

“Nearly noon.”

“Shit,” Bucky said, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked.

“Eh.”

Steve nodded and offered him some coffee or water. Bucky sat back and waited as Steve went to get a cold glass of the latter. When Steve came back, he handed Bucky his book.

“What’s this?” Bucky asked.

Steve knitted his eyebrows in confusion.

“The book you got yesterday,” he responded slowly.

Bucky flipped it over and examined the back cover, humming a quiet “hmm”.

Steve found it odd, he probably got a third of the way through the book just the day before. Maybe he was just out of it.

“I have some things I gotta finish up, you need anything else?” he asked.

“I’m ok,” Bucky said, flipping to the first pages of the book and skimming the words.

Steve got back to the computer, hearing Bucky clambering around the kitchen a little while later. His phone dinged, and Sam asked how he was doing. He was growing more and more concerned about Bucky’s well-being. He needed someone to talk to, just to relieve some stress. And so he considered for a moment reaching out, telling Sam he _wasn’t_ , in fact, doing so well, that he was worried sick, that he felt like he might be doing more harm not driving Bucky straight to see a doctor. Steve picked up the phone. Sighing, he typed out the generic, _‘I’m ok, how are you?’_ and went back to his work.

The next few days brought with them an increasing amount of odd behavior from Bucky. Steve found barely-picked-at plates of food lying around. Bucky spent more time in his room with the door closed, and whenever he did come out, he seemed to be starting the same book over from the beginning each time.

Thursday morning, Steve piped up after finding Bucky reading on the couch, “how many times have you read that book now?”

Bucky looked up, then down at the book, then up at Steve again.

“I’m just starting it now. It looks interesting,” he said.

Steve bit his cheek.

“Hey are you ok lately?” he asked finally.

“Hmm?” Bucky glanced up with sheepish eyes. 

“You’ve just been acting strange the last few days.”

 _‘You’ve been acting strange the last few days’_ the words echoed in Bucky’s mind, bringing back the memory of him and Steve as teenagers on his mother’s living room floor. He was back there for a moment, playing cards, and then he was back in the living room with adult Steve, who was looking at him cautiously. He already forgot the question that was asked.

“Buck, are you ok lately?” Steve repeated.

Bucky nodded slowly, “Yeah. I’ve just been tired. Things feel sort of… out of order.”

“What do you mean?” Steve sat down on the opposite end of the couch and placed his hands in his lap.

“I don’t know. I think I’m just tired.”

Steve wanted to prod more, but he could see Bucky didn’t want to elaborate, so he reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

“Try to get some rest, ok?”

Bucky nodded and looked back down at the book, realizing he’d lost his place.

***

Two more days passed, and Bucky sat on the floor by the fireplace, a blanket draped over his shoulders. Steve built a fire when they woke up to help warm the house on this particularly cold morning. The flames danced around, captivating Bucky and holding his gaze in a sort of hypnotic wonder.

Steve came around the corner and paused.

“Buck,” he said.

Bucky seemed to not hear him.

“Bucky,” Steve moved closer to him.

Still no response.

Steve knelt and placed a hand on his shoulder, and Bucky jumped so hard that the blanket flew off him and collapsed in a heap on the ground. In a millisecond, his hand was wrapped around Steve’s wrist in an unbreakable metal grip. He spun around, pulling his other hand back as though he might strike. His eyes were wide and filled with fear, his face contorted into a dangerous scowl. This lasted for only a moment. When he came face-to-face with his friend, his eyes revealed first recognition, then alarm, then shame and horror at what he’d almost done.

His mouth opened and he said something that came out as more of a pathetic croak.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he tried again, “Shit! I’m sorry, Steve.”

Tears welled in his eyes and his grip loosened on Steve’s arm. He reached up to clutch the collar of Steve’s shirt and slumped into his chest, breathing hard.

“Fuck, I don’t know what I was thinking. I just got scared, I’m sorry, I would never hurt you like that again” he whimpered.

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” Steve searched frantically for better words. He was, however briefly, at the mercy of a trained assassin. That was not Bucky Barnes that almost shattered every bone in his face with one blow. Steve was shaken, but he needed to focus on his friend right now. He needed to calm Bucky down before they could process anything else. 

He placed a gentle hand on the back of Bucky’s head and held him there. Steve made an effort to take long, slow breaths in hopes that he might guide Bucky to do the same. He still shook, but he eventually followed suit, and after several minutes, he pulled away.

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to go for a walk,” Steve said in a small voice. Although it wasn’t a joke, they both laughed nervously.

Bucky wiped his face and nodded, avoiding eye contact but offering a guilty smile.

They pulled on heavy coats. Steve retrieved a thick scarf from his closet and offered it to Bucky. He wrapped it around his neck and pulled it up so that it covered his mouth and nose.

 _God, it smells like him,_ Bucky thought to himself, feeling guilty for taking pleasure in Steve’s scent after nearly killing him. 

They were quiet as they made their way down the damp sidewalk. It was extra cold today. The air felt more like winter than fall.

Bucky and Steve both tried to find their words, at a loss for how to move forward. There was an unspoken understanding that something _was_ wrong with Bucky, and that it could no longer be ignored. It sat thick in the air between them. Neither one knew how to talk about it. Bucky didn’t even fully understand what was going on in his head, so how could he explain it without worrying Steve? Steve, however, was already worried, and he wished Bucky would just talk to him so that he knew how to help.

It was a mess.

“So,” Steve was the first to break the silence.

“So…” Bucky echoed.

“What’s going on?”

“Things feel a bit… _jumbled_.” Bucky said. “It’s hard to explain, but I feel like things happen out of order. And I know there’s things I’m forgetting, but I don’t know what they are. And then I get upset because I should know. And I’ve been having really vivid memories—”

“Like flashbacks?” Steve interjected.

“Yeah, I guess so, but they’re not all bad. They’re just… random. It’s making it hard to remember where I really am.”

Bucky stopped walking. He was shocked at the way the words spilled out of his mouth so easily, making sense of things that he couldn’t make sense of before.

Steve stood beside him and nodded slowly.

“And what about the headaches?”

“Headaches?” Bucky asked.

“The migraines and the throwing up…”

Bucky scanned his fragmented memory, trying to understand why Steve would be asking about headaches, “I—I don’t…”

Steve knitted his brows, “You don’t remember?”

Bucky felt frustration and fear creep up in his mind. Was he forgetting again? Is that why Steve’s so concerned? No, it’s because Bucky had almost hurt him just now. That’s the whole reason they’re having this conversation…

_Bucky drew his hand back, ready to strike. Then he saw Steve. His heart jumped. ‘That’s my friend’, he thought. His grip loosened on Steve’s wrist as he realized what he’d almost done._

Bucky staggered backwards, fearful and confused. He saw Steve standing before him, in a thick coat, his nose tinged pink from the cold. Had he tried to attack him again? How did they get here?

His heart pounded in his chest, and there was a ringing in his ears. He was a monster.

_Bucky looked up again, seeing that they were bathed in firelight. He reached down and placed his hand over Steve’s. He felt his head swimming from the wine. There was a pause, but then Steve turned his hand over and laced their fingers together._

_He went to the kitchen to pour a fresh cup of coffee. Steve was making eggs. Music played from the speaker in the corner._

_He was on a bridge. The sun blared down on them and dust settled as thought there was a fight. Steve stood before him, covered in dirt, shield in hand, looking like he’d just seen a ghost. “Bucky?” he said in disbelief._

“Stop! Stop!” Bucky grabbed his head and fell to the ground. Water soaked through his pants when he hit the wet concrete. The more he tried to focus, the worse it got. He felt a hand on each of his arms. He thought someone was trying to push him to the ground at first, but the hands were gentle, not forceful.

“Bucky it’s ok!” Steve said desperately, “It’s me, look at me!”

Bucky eyes widened as he fixed them on Steve. They were distant but filled with terror.

Steve leaned forward and pulled Bucky into his arms. Bucky’s muscles tensed, but he heard Steve’s breaths in his ear, and he focused on them until he slowly relaxed. They stayed there until it felt like it was over.

Steve was at a loss for words. Unsure of what he just witnessed, he knew it best to get Bucky home. So he pulled him to his feet and guided him back in the direction of the house.

Bucky felt like everything was covered in a thick and unforgiving haze, like the world around him was muffled and detached. He changed his clothes in an automated sort of way, pulling on a dry pair of sweatpants. Afterward he sat on the couch, lost in incoherent thought.

Steve brought him water and sat with him on the couch.

“Bucky, I think… maybe you should see a doctor…”

Bucky winced, shrinking further into his seat.

Steve knew it wasn’t going to be helpful to push the subject onto him any more, so he stayed there until Bucky dozed off, and he went quietly to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

He did the only thing he could think of, and dialed Bruce.

“Hello?” Bruce said, picking up right away.

“Bruce, hey, it’s Steve.”

“Steve! Hey, long time. How are you?”

Steve hesitated, “Uh. Not so good actually. I’d love to catch up sometime soon, but right now I need your help.”

“Okay,” Bruce said with intrigue.

Steve did his best to explain everything going on with Bucky. He explained the forgetfulness, the migraines and sickness, and how Bucky explained feeling _jumbled._

“You’re the only person I could think of to call. I don’t think normal doctors would be good for him, but I don’t understand what’s going on. Something is wrong with my friend, and I need to know what to do. I’m _scared_ , Bruce,” Steve said in a shaky voice. He peered down the hall to see if Bucky was still asleep, which he was.

“Wow…” Bruce said after a long pause, “I mean, I’m not a specialist, and it’s pretty hard to make any real connections without being able to observe him myself.”

“I know,” Steve said.

“But, just based on what you’ve told me, I have a few ideas. Let me do some research. I’ll get back to you asap, ok?”

“Thank you so much, Bruce, I appreciate it more than you know.”

“Sure thing. Talk soon,” Bruce said, followed by a quick goodbye and a _click._

Steve tiptoed back to the living room and sat with Bucky again. He had always cared for his friend to almost an extreme, but right now he felt sick with worry. He wanted to fix this. He wanted to see Bucky happy again. He missed his smile, so tender and sweet. He missed quiet mornings where they would sip their coffee and talk. Just talk… About anything, everything. The sudden urge arose to reach over and touch his hand, stroke his hair, hold him, comfort him.

Steve blushed, neglecting to identify the strange feeling that gripped his heart again. He would deal with that later. For now he just needed to make sure Bucky was safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really challenging to write, not gonna lie. How was it? Leave a comment!


	6. What Happens Now

Bucky had become, more or less, unresponsive. He spent the last few days sitting on the couch or his bed, staring into the distance for hours on end. Occasionally Steve would bring him a plate of food. He would take a few slow bites before returning to his vegetative state. Steve tried to stay positive. He talked to Bucky, more like _at_ him. He would tell stories or talk about the news only to be met with silence.

Occasionally Bucky would mumble something incomprehensible to himself under his breath, but for the most part, he might as well have been made of stone.

“I ordered you a new book,” Steve said, opening the package that had just arrived at their door. He held the book out to Bucky with a weak smile. Bucky stared ahead of him, not giving any sign that he even heard Steve.

The plate of chicken and rice sat untouched on the coffee table from three hours ago.

“I’ll just leave it here then, in case you wanted to check it out.” He swapped it out in place of the cold plate, which he took to the kitchen.

When he was out of view of Bucky, he leaned over the sink, clutching the edge of the counter. His other hand clapped over his mouth as he tried and failed to keep the tears from rushing to his eyes. He finally caved. His whole body shook and heaved. He let the tears fall, he let himself break open like a dam with way too much pressure built up against it. All the sadness and frustration and anger came rushing out in heavy sobs. He cried silently, but he cried harder than he ever had in his life.

He wasn’t just sad, he was _devastated._ And he wasn’t angry, but _furious._ He loved Bucky. Not just as a friend, but as more. He was tired of denying it. That man on the couch was his entire world. He always had been. Steve was so sick and tired of losing him and getting him back and losing him again. Here they finally had the opportunity to share a life, to grow old in peace. No more aliens, no more superhero wars. Just a normal life in a normal house. And now that seemed unobtainable. Steve was being forced to watch the love of his life turn into a shell that was so empty and cold he might as well be dead.

Just then, a buzz came from his pocket. When he pulled his phone out, the screen flashed with [Bruce B].

He wiped his tears and gathered himself as quickly as he could. His stomach clenched as he rushed to his bedroom and closed the door.

“Hello?” He answered in a nasally voice, followed by a sniffle.

“Hey,” Bruce replied, “Are you alright?”

“I’m, uh… not really,” Steve said, defeated. “He’s gotten worse. So much worse.”

He explained everything that had happened since they last spoke in a quiet voice, trying to make sure Bucky wouldn’t overhear.

Bruce sighed heavily, “I’m so sorry, Steve. And I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner…”

Steve reached for a tissue to wipe his nose.

“I do think I might know what’s going on,” Bruce said. “The serum that they gave to Bucky when they experimented on him, more than likely it’s beginning to break down. That paired with years of shocks directly to the brain, it could do some real long-term damage. I’m assuming he’s dealing with some level of PTSD on top of it all.”

“But the serum is the same one they gave to me, isn’t it?” Steve said quickly.

“Not necessarily. I have files on everyone, medical records, profiles, stolen intel from Hydra, etc. Some were provided by Tony or Fury long ago for old purposes I don’t want to get into. But the thing is, the serum given to Bucky was manufactured by Hydra, not Shield. More than likely, Hydra wouldn’t care as much about preserving their subject’s long-term health through careful testing before administering the drug. And like I said, I can’t be sure it’s just one thing. It’s probably a combination of everything his body and mind have been subjected to.”

Steve’s heart sunk even further.

Bruce continued, “Unfortunately, I don’t know what can be done. If it is reversible, there’s not an established fix. The physical side of it is dependent on finding something that can help correct his brain chemically. To engineer something like that would take years, lots of testing, and lots of funding. No one can afford to commit to that to save one life. The other approach would be mental. To ease some of the distress from the emotional trauma through therapy and coping mechanisms, he might be able to recover a little or at least slow the deterioration of his mind. All in all, I think the best you can do is take care of him, focus on making him feel safe, see if he’s responsive to a therapist. I have a contact I can send to you. He was my therapist for a while when I needed help. I wish I had a better answer, Steve, I do.”

A silence ensued. Steve was still trying to absorb everything Bruce told him, but it was a lot to take in. He was feeling overwhelmed.

“Thank you, Bruce,” Steve’s voice cracked.

“Take care of yourself,” Bruce said, “I’m a phone call away.”

“I know, thank you,” Steve repeated.

They said goodbye, and Steve set the phone on his desk, feeling empty and hopeless. Knowing all of this was almost just as bad as not knowing. What he gathered was that it wasn’t an easy fix. Maybe there wasn’t a fix at all.

He wanted to go back to Bucky, but he was a mess. All he could bring himself to do was curl up in his bed. He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he woke up an hour later.

In a mild panic, he cursed himself for dozing off. What if Bucky had needed him in that time? He went straight to the living room, feeling his eyes still a little swollen.

Bucky hadn’t moved. Neither had the book in front of him.

Steve sighed both sadness and relief.

He noticed Bucky’s hair was greasy and tangled. It must have been three or four days since he showered. Steve went to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. To his surprise, Bucky looked up at him, his eyes still glossy.

Steve stuttered, “do you want to take a shower? Or a bath maybe?”

Bucky looked at him blankly. Steve cupped his hand and pulled gently. Bucky stood and followed him to the bathroom.

“Do you need help? Or…” Steve asked awkwardly.

No response.

“Shoot. Um…” He pushed the shower curtain aside, making sure the tub was clean.

“I can help you, if you’re ok with that.”

No response.

Steve tried to hide his embarrassment. Helping a grown man, especially one he was secretly in love with, take a bath would surely be uncomfortable as hell.

 _I am his caretaker for now. I need to be mature about this. There is no other option,_ he repeated the mantra to himself.

He drew the water and held his hand under it to make sure the temperature was right before plugging the drain.

“Ok, so… you should undress.”

He grabbed the bottom of Bucky’s shirt and pulled upward slowly. To his surprise, Bucky lifted his arms and helped to get it off. He seemed to be at least a little responsive with guidance.

“And um.”

Steve motioned to Bucky’s waistband of his pants.

Bucky looked at him blankly.

“Ok,” he said, taking a deep breath and grabbing Bucky’s waistband by his hips, giving a slow tug downward.

He turned bright red and tried to look in any other direction.

“Alright, um, it would be really great if you could help me maybe,” he realized he was speaking a little more loudly than usual.

Bucky reached down and pulled his pants off the rest of the way.

Steve sighed, but he felt like he might die of embarrassment.

He held Bucky’s hand and guided him to the tub, which was full enough to turn off the water now. Steve pulled a pitcher from under the sink and filled it.

“Lean your head back,” he said before pouring the water carefully around Bucky’s hairline. The awkwardness was melting away as he scrubbed shampoo into his long brown hair. Bucky seemed to come back to himself ever-so-slightly, and Steve swore he saw a flicker of embarrassment on his face as well.

He scrubbed small circles on Bucky’s back with a soapy loofa and worked his way around to all the spots that were easy-access and comfortable.

As weird as it was to be doing this, it felt oddly good. Like Steve was actually able to do something helpful for a change. That and Bucky seemed more present than he had been in days, so it gave Steve hope.

He rinsed the conditioner out with another pitcher of fresh water from the tap and then helped Bucky to his feet. He wrapped a towel gently around his broad shoulders, and Bucky held onto it to keep it in place.

Steve brushed the tangles out of his soaking wet hair and looked over his shoulder to meet his eyes in the mirror.

“I’m sorry, Bucky. I wish there was more I could do to help you. I’m just… lost,” he said quietly. Bucky looked back at him attentively, but without any sign of comprehension.

Steve sighed.

He brought in a pair of clean clothes and helped with getting dressed, although Bucky started to do it mostly on his own. Lastly, Steve handed him a toothbrush so that he could brush his teeth.

“Feel a little better?” He asked.

Bucky smiled faintly, and it made Steve’s heart swell. Maybe he did do something right. Maybe there was still hope.

That night, Steve took Bucky to bed and sat with him. Bucky scooted closer and Steve stroked his hair. Bucky’s eyes closed slowly; he looked peaceful.

Steve thought he was asleep already, but one quiet word came from his mouth:

“Goodnight.”

Steve felt a lump form in his throat and tears come to his eyes.

“Goodnight, Buck. Sweet dreams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry...
> 
> Leave comments :')


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